


Say You'll See Me Again

by Silver_over_bone



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, Domestic Fluff, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Daryl Dixon, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Apocalypse, Pre-Canon, Sad Ending, finding each other, minor daryl dixon/aaron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:55:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22016713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_over_bone/pseuds/Silver_over_bone
Summary: The red string of fate will always bring them togetherOrDaryl and Paul lose each other in the beginning,
Relationships: Aaron/Daryl Dixon, Daryl Dixon/Jesus
Kudos: 9





	Say You'll See Me Again

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I rushed this a little, so I hope it's not terrible. I like it, I think, though I'll probably end up editing it. I'll add to the description if/when I fix anything.

“Wake up.”  
It was a whine in his ear, followed by a series of soft lips and careful nibbles down his jaw and over his throat.  
Daryl groaned, his eyes squeezing even tighter shut.  
“No.” He responded hoarsely, which only earned him a soft laugh and sharper bite against his collarbone.  
“I’m getting up then.”  
“No.” He repeated, pulling at Paul’s waist as he tried to sit up and escape the bed. The other man fell back into the sheets with a huff and a smile.  
“I have a lesson to teach, and you have to get moving if you want to get out there and get set-up before it gets dark.”  
“It don’t matter.”  
“Well you wouldn’t shut up about it yesterday.”  
“I’m shutting up now. Go back to sleep.”  
Paul laugher as Daryl attempted to roll over and smother him into the sheets. He managed to squirm his way out of the other man’s grasp and off the bed.  
Daryl grumbled and rolled onto his side, tucking his arm under his ear as a pillow to watch Paul dig around in a drawer.  
“Quit staring at my ass.”  
“Nah.”  
“Perv.” Paul quipped, bending down to step into a pair of obnoxiously bright red flannel Pajama pants.  
When they first met, they’d talked about Paul’s interest in martial arts, but even so, Daryl hadn’t been anticipating the sheer amount of muscle that Paul actually carried. It was drool worthy, and Daryl wasn’t afraid to gawk.  
“What?” Paul asked, and Daryl’s eyes snapped up from his chest to his face.  
“Nothin’. Just looking.”  
“Mmhm. Don’t get any ideas.”  
Daryl snorted, and rolled onto his back. He closed his eyes, preparing to get up with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again.  
He smiled with closed lips when a hand landed on his chest, leaning weight onto him, followed a kiss against his cheek.  
“Get up. I’m going to make breakfast.”  
Daryl grunted, and Paul snickered, padding out of the room. He followed him after a couple minutes of building himself up to it.  
The way Paul laughed in victory flipped a pancake into the air and caught it again made Daryl’s heart clench so tightly he was sure he was having a heart attack. It made getting out of bed worth it.  
Daryl made himself known by stepped up behind him, letting his arms wrap loosely around Paul’s waist, and mouthing at bruise he’d left behind at some point on his shoulder.  
“I made you a coffee.” Paul said, pointing towards two mugs set to the side filled to the brim.  
“Thanks.” Daryl mumbled, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of Paul’s face before pulling away to grab a mug and sit at their rickety kitchen table.

After a few minutes of quiet humming, and the occasional pancake delayed by a mistimed flip, Paul set a plate down on the table, followed by a new bottle of maple syrup that hadn’t been unsealed yet. He leaned down to press a kiss to the side of the other man’s throat. He sat down across from him, and slowly slid a leg between Daryl’s ankles.  
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me alone all weekend.” Paul complained, a glint in his eyes that let Daryl know he was just teasing “I’ll have to find some way to entertain myself.”  
“I hate your guts.” Daryl grumbled, fighting a smile.  
“You didn’t mind rearranging my guts last night though.” Paul whispered in his ear. Daryl choked on his coffee, and when he finally stopped coughing, he couldn’t help but grin into his mug.  
“I’m sure you’ll survive. It’s just three days.” Daryl finally snorted.  
“Maybe I’ll tear the couches apart and rearrange the bedroom.”  
“Ya sound like a dog.”  
“Is that permission to go get one?”  
“No.”  
“You’re not going to be home to stop me.”  
“If I come home to a dog I’ll be sleepin’ on the couch.”  
Paul simply huffed air out through his nose.  
They ate quietly, each fetching themselves a second cup of coffee to down before they split ways for a second weekend. Daryl tossed mugs and plates haphazardly into the dishwasher while Paul went to get dressed. They stood before their door for a few minutes, exchanging soft kisses.  
“Okay, I’ve got to go or I’m going to be late.” Paul finally sighed into Daryl’s mouth.  
“Alright.”  
“I’ll see you Sunday night?”  
“Yep.”  
“Be safe.”  
“I know what I’m doing, ya know. You could come with me, it’s just camping”  
“I just have an off feeling this time. Promise you’ll be safe.”  
“I always am.” Daryl assured, nodding “I promise. I’ll see you Sunday.”  
“Okay.”  
“Have fun with your class.”  
“I will. I love you.”  
“Love you too.”  
Paul gave him a bright smile, and the door clicked shut between them.  
  
***  
It was Saturday night when Daryl realized something was wrong. Specifically, it was the bomber planes flying overhead that tipped him off, and the panicked reporters on his portable radio.  
He practically ran back to his camp, packing everything haphazardly and jogging through the night back to where he’d parked the car.  
By the time he made it back to his apartment, Sunday afternoon, Daryl had a very good idea of what was going on, and he was terrified.  
It felt like something out of one of the sci-fi movies Paul always wrangled him into watched. And god, where was Paul? The apartment was devoid of the younger man, although all his things were exactly where they belonged.  
Daryl locked himself in the apartment that night, sat at the kitchen table and tried not to think the worst.  
By Tuesday evening, Daryl had broken down, He had shattered a few plates, kicked their coffee table in the living room over, then proceeded to sit on the couch and cry until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.  
He left the apartment Wednesday afternoon, venturing out into the building, and then streets to see what was going on. None of their neighbours answered their doors, but he honestly wasn’t sure if he would if someone knocked on his.  
His shop had been raided, but he wasn’t surprised by that. He was glad to see that whoever stole most of his tools hadn’t realized he had a safe under the front desk, and he didn’t hesitate to hide the switchblade down the inside his boot and strap the pistol to his hip. He gave the shop another walk through, checking for any signs of life, of Paul, then he grabbed a duffel bag from a hook on the wall of his office, and headed out into the streets.  
He killed his first walker that day, smacked it over the head with a can of beans while he was checking out the local grocery store.  
The next day he went to the gym a town over that Paul taught at, hoping he’d find him there. He didn’t, he raided the whole place, took out every dead one trapped inside. Paul’s car wasn’t even in the parking lot.  
Daryl stayed at the apartment for another week, or so. He ventured out a couple times, always knocking on doors and checking places he might expect to run into other survivors. It was the next Tuesday–or at least Daryl thought it was Tuesday–when he came home to the apartment door cracked open.  
Daryl’s heart pounded in his chest, hope swelling in his throat.  
“Paul?” He called out; his voice hoarse from lack of use over the last week.  
The answer disappointed him.  
“Just little ol’ me.” Merle was leaned against the kitchen wall, a half-empty bottle of beer in hand.  
The urge to reach for his pistol made Daryl’s hands twitch.  
“The fuck are you doin’ here?” Daryl snarled. A wave of satisfaction rolled through him when Merle shifted uncomfortably.  
“Came lookin’ for you and your little....boyfriend.”  
“Husband.” Daryl corrected without a beat, glaring at his brother from across the room. He ignored the mildly disgusted expression on Merle’s face and decided to settle on gripping the hilt of a hunting knife sheathed to his belt.  
“They let you out?”  
“Nah, broke out couple days ago. Dead fuckin’ guard came wandering over to me. Snatched the keys.”  
They stared at each other for a long moment. Merle broke eye contact first, taking a swig from his beer and turning his attention to the window above the sink.  
“So, where he at then?”  
“Paul?”  
“Whatever his fuckin’ name is.”  
“Don’t know.”  
“Ah, that why you’ve stuck around here?”  
Daryl nodded, clenching his jaw to ignore the tension building in his throat.  
“Ya think he’s still alive then? That’ll he’ll come back here?”  
“Yes.” Daryl said, praying Merle didn’t hear his voice crack.  
Merle snorted, and Daryl was grateful he didn’t say anything.  
Daryl hadn’t spoken to Merle in years, since he got locked up for dealing. He hadn’t need to, like he had in the past, when Merle was the only person he had. He didn’t need because he had Paul.  
Daryl scavenged around the little town for a few more days.  
He stopped his bike outside of the small gym for the last time, pulling his bag off his shoulders as he walked up to the front doors.  
  
 _Paul, going to Atlanta on the 85. Checking out the military camps they said they were setting up in the city. I’ll go back home if it’s nothing - Daryl Dixon_  
  
Daryl ripped the page off the pad of paper, and taped it to the inside of the door, to keep it out of the rain. He turned to leave, paused, then flipped the pad of paper open again, holding the tape between his teeth. He stuck his second note to the right of the first one, his hands trembling.  
  
 _I love you_  
  
  
 *******

Atlanta was a bust. Daryl felt like he should’ve known better, that herding together would only let the disease move faster.

By the time he got back to his little town, it was a war zone masquerading as the place he called home. Buildings were destroyed, lit up in flames, and the streets were overrun with the dead. He couldn’t stay, he couldn’t even make it back to his apartment. Merle had followed him back from Atlanta, and if he hadn’t, Daryl knew he would’ve tried to fight his way home. Dead sounded better to him than being alone in a world like this. Instead, he was dragged back to the campers they met setting up near the highway.

He didn’t like them, didn’t trust them to come together if they needed to. The only ones he didn’t really mind were the kids, and the Asian boy was clever enough to intrigue Daryl. He wasn’t putting any effort into really getting to know them, he figured he’d be taking off with Merle within a few days. It was strange, being back together with Merle. It was nice, in a way. He did love him brother, even if he was a drugged-up prick most of the time. He found himself slipping back into old, redneck habits he’d discarded long ago, and it felt wrong, but people didn’t try as hard to get to know him he called them slurs to their face.

The group got him his own tent, which he didn’t refuse. The privacy made it easier on Daryl to hide the fact that he was crying himself to sleep most nights, a blanket pulled up to his chest in the place his husband was supposed to go.

**Author's Note:**

> The second chapter will probably be up in week or two. It'll revolve around Daryl and Paul reuniting and then Paul d-wording.


End file.
